


Grandma's Cookies

by DSBooth



Series: The Way to A Man's Heart is Through His Stomach [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Baking, College, College Student, Cookie Dough, Cookies, Cooking, Country Music, Dancing, Fiction, LGBT, M/M, M/M Pairing, MalexMale, MxM - Freeform, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Recipes, Romance, Stress Baking, Young Love, chocolate chip cookies, country, grandmas cookies, kitchen dancing, male male pairing, oatmeal cookies, young adult, young adult romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2020-09-28 19:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20430956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DSBooth/pseuds/DSBooth
Summary: Prompt: You're baking cookies in the communal kitchen at 3 a.m. and I'm angry but also really hungry.





	1. Grandma's Cookies

It took everything I could to keep myself from slamming my foot down on the gas pedal of my beat up 2006 Ford Fusion. I was so angry when I left, not much else mattered to me than getting back to my room as quickly as possible; back to my safe space. I cut the twenty-minute drive down to twelve, and tears stung my eyes as I finally pulled into my parking space and switched off the ignition. I just sat there for about five minutes, trying to keep the tears away until I was behind the safety of my bedroom door where no one could see me. Slowly-very slowly-I felt my heart rate slow, and my blood pressure go down. The heat on my skin faded and I felt like I could now walk into my building and face anyone that walked past me without completely losing it on them. I didn’t expect many people to be roaming around at three in the morning, but I knew there would be at least one person, maybe two, posted at the front desk, and maybe the occasional all-nighter here or there.  
I popped open the driver’s side door and stepped out onto the pavement. Deciding to just leave my backpack in my car, I slammed the door shut and hit the button on my remote twice to lock them all. Very rarely was I out this late, and the campus was eerily quiet. Other than the sound of crickets or the occasional cicada, maybe a hawk here or there, it was completely silent. No one was in their cars, no one was walking around. I could see lights on in the building. The one that specifically caught my eye was the one coming from the communal kitchen. Who the hell is cooking at this time of night?  
Just as I thought that I saw a figure move-no, dance rather-across the window with some kind of cooking utensil in their hand. I didn’t recognize the person, but the act made me smile, and I made my way towards the door intending to go into the kitchen to figure out who this mystery dancer was.   
I watched the window as I crossed the parking lot and stepped on to the twisting path to the front door. The figure danced across the room a few more times before I was far enough down the path where they disappeared from view. I couldn’t wipe the smile from my face as I swiped my key card and the light on the ID scanner flashed green and the doors swung open, allowing me to hear what the person in the kitchen was dancing to. I was surprised that the person working the front desk allowed the music to be that loud, but when she looked up from her textbook, she laughed, shaking her head and rolling her eyes, telling me that this wasn’t the first time this situation had occurred.   
I smiled back. My hands worked at putting my school ID back in my wallet as my legs carried me towards the communal kitchen and the sound of LeAnn Rimes grew louder and louder. Eventually, the shape that was dancing around the kitchen came into view. The kitchen utensil in his hand was a wooden spatula that I could now see was covered in what looked like cookie dough. Between swinging his arms around and shaking his hips, the spatula would occasionally make its way towards his mouth and he would take a mouthful of the cookie dough. His dark shaggy hair bounced with each step and while shirtless, he wore too big jeans that barely rested on his hips threatening to fall down with each move he made. I leaned against the door frame to the entrance of the kitchen and managed to keep quiet. That was, until he hopped over to the oven, bending over to open the door, and continuing to move his ass to the beat of the music.   
I had to lean against the door frame to support myself as I doubled over laughing. The really good kind of laugh that makes your stomach hurt and makes your lungs feel like they might collapse. The door to the oven slammed shut and while the music continued, the guy stood and whipped around with the spatula still covered in cookie dough glued to his hand. After realizing that I was me and not some crazy person coming to steal his cookie dough he took a step to the side and relaxed against the counter catching his breath.  
“How long have you been standing there?” he asked, turning around to grab his now finished cookies from the oven.  
I composed myself and wiped away the tears that formed in my eyes from laughing so hard. “Long enough to know that you can’t fight the moonlight.”  
His skin flushed red, but he didn’t seem angry that I stood there watching him dance while he was baking cookies. He set the tray down on the counter and put the wooden spatula in the sink, then walked back over to me. “I-I’m Avery by the way,” he said, extending his hand out to me.  
“Derek,” I responded, grasping his hand in mind and noting the flutter I felt in my stomach as our hands touched. “I have to ask, what are you doing baking cookies at three in the morning?”  
I eyed the cookies on the tray, suddenly feeling the grumbling in my stomach and noting how hungry I actually was. I’d forgotten that I skipped dinner because we were too busy fighting. I didn’t know much about baking but I could recognize some of the cookies as chocolate chip and the other ones that looked like they’d been done for a while were covered in some kind of white icing.  
“Are you hungry?” Avery’s question broke my thought and I didn’t realize I was staring at the cookies as hard as I was. Before I could answer he picked the plate of finished cookies with the icing on top and held them out to me. “The other ones are too hot still but take as many of these as you like.”  
I hesitantly picked one up off the plate. Although he said they’d been done a while, they still radiated a slight bit of heat into my hand, but not too much.  
“I was working on a paper and it started stressing me out,” he explained. The plate was sat down on the table in the kitchen and he pulled out a chair and sat next to it. “When I’m stressed, I bake.” Avery took a deep breath and nervously laughed. “And dance around like a moron apparently.”  
I smiled. I looked back down at the cookie in my hand. The white frosting glistened from the residual heat. “What kind are these? I’ve never seen one like it.”  
Avery picked a cookie up of his own and broke it apart in his hands. “You mean you’ve probably never seen a homemade one before. The processed pre-packaged crappy version looks a little different. They’re frosted oatmeal. My grandma’s recipe.”  
I copied his move and broke the cookie apart in my hands. It didn’t crunch like what I was used to. The cookie crumbled into two pieces and a few stray crumbs fell to the floor. As the pieces separated in my hands a smell of cinnamon and sugar filled my nose. My stomach grumbled again begging me to just put the damn cookie in my mouth already. I balanced both halves in one hand as I broke off a bite-sized piece and put it in my mouth. Instantly the icing on top melted on my tongue and mixed with the spices in the dough and-honestly I’d never had oats before so I didn’t know that they could taste that good. It was the first time in a long time I’d had the taste of something homemade in my mouth and it was so unexplainably comforting that I almost wanted to cry. Bite by bite I devoured the cookie and Avery had another one in my hand before I even realized what was happening.  
“I don’t want to eat all your cookies,” I muffled in protest with my mouth full of the sugary cinnamon-oat goodness.   
“Don’t worry about it you look hungry and if I’m gonna keep baking when I’m stressed, I need someone to help me eat it all or I’ll end up like the one-ton man.”  
Avery hiked up the jeans on his hips and moved over to the tray of chocolate chip cooling on the stove. After testing one with his finger he picked them all up with a pair of tongs and moved them to the plate with the oatmeal ones. He started cleaning up the dishes he used and put them all in the sink, turning on the warm water and washing each pan and utensil thoroughly before putting them in the dingy white dish drainer next to the sink that had probably been there since I started high school. While he did this, he paused periodically to check to see if I needed another cookie, and if my hands were empty, he crossed the room to the plate and handed me another without saying a word.   
I always thought that I hid emotions pretty well. I’d never been an open person when it came to sharing anything personal, but Avery seemed to know exactly what I needed.  
Once the kitchen was cleaned up and I’d effectively taken down three more oatmeal cookies and two of the chocolate chips, Avery invited me to sit down with him at the table.  
“You’re really procrastinating this paper, aren’t you?” I asked, picking the chair directly across from him at the table.  
“Well you’re choosing to sit with a strange cookie-baking man at nearly four in the morning, so it looks like were both procrastinating.”   
He wasn’t wrong. The absolute last thing I wanted to do was go upstairs to be alone in my room with my thoughts. Because that meant that the tears would start, and I wasn’t sure that once they did, I would be able to stop them.  
“Well you seem to have put crack or something in those cookies so I don’t have much of a choice in the matter.”  
Avery flashed a smile and brushed his shaggy hair out of his face. “So, how did you make it to your sophomore year in college before ever having a homemade cookie?” He turned around and grabbed another chocolate chip off the plate, setting it on a napkin and sliding it across the table to me.  
I picked at it. “Well my mom died when I was young. She did most of the cooking, not so much baking. She was always the mom that bought cakes and muffins at the bakery and put them on her own servers and said she baked it herself.” I finished the sentence with a laugh. “After she was gone, if it didn’t come in a package or wasn’t microwaveable, we didn’t eat it.”  
I sensed that the dead mom talk made Avery a little uncomfortable so I quickly changed the subject. “What paper were you working on?”  
“History.” He finally turned and picked up a second cookie for himself and started breaking it into pieces as I was doing mine. “Cleopatra specifically. I can’t stand history it was always my worst subject.”  
“Well lucky for you a history major stumbled upon your dance party tonight.” I sat back in my seat. “Did you know that Cleopatra wasn’t Egyptian?”  
Avery shook his head with a mouthful of cookie.  
“She was born in Egypt but her parents and ancestors were actually of Greek descent.”  
Avery stood and brought the plate over to the table. We both realized we weren’t going to get any sleep, and thankfully it was a Saturday morning so it didn’t matter. We both mindlessly reached for the cookies as I told Avery everything I knew about Ancient Egypt and Cleopatra’s reign and he took shorthanded notes on his phone. The light outside went from pitch black, to a dark blue, to the orange hue that meant the sun was coming up, and the downstairs of the building quickly filled as breakfast was about to be served in the dining hall and students were dragging themselves out in a barely acceptable state to get a chance at the mass produced food before they started their day.   
Bit by bit Avery and I cleared the plate of cookies, and by the time we finished them he had just enough information he needed for his paper, and I’d completely forgotten why I was angry in the first place. I helped him clear the kitchen, putting back the things that belonged in the kitchen and packing everything up that belonged back in his room. Strangely, I was sad to see the night come to a close.   
We both made our way out of the kitchen, Avery collecting his student ID from the person at the desk, and as he walked to the elevator I realized that that was where my path ended as my room was down the hallway past the elevator.   
“Thank you for your help,” he said, pressing the up button causing the elevator to roar to life. “You really saved my ass with that paper.”  
“You saved my ass with those cookies,” I responded, looking down at my feet, “I honestly had a pretty rough night and you helped a lot. Thanks.”  
The elevator dinged and the door slid open. “I guess I’ll see you around?” he asked stepping inside and pressing a button.  
I nodded. “Good luck with your paper.”  
I always sucked with goodbyes. They were always so awkward.   
I turned away form the elevator and headed towards the hallway leading to my room. I hadn’t looked at my phone since I stepped out of my car, but as I walked I habitually pulled it out of my pocket, noticing all the missed calls and texts, and instantly I was angry again. For the next two weeks all we did was fight. From the time we woke up, to when he either passed out drunk or I got so upset that I got sick and cried myself to sleep. And then, it was over. Just like that. It was time for me to pick up the pieces and move along with my life. Final exams were coming up, and I had more to worry about than saving a relationship that was hopeless from the beginning.  
After one particularly bad night, where my eyes were bloodshot from crying and I hadn’t slept so I was completely exhausted, I had my head down as I swiped my key card to get into the building, but a voice caused me to look up as the doors swung open.   
“Derek!”  
I picked my head up and saw someone walking towards me that took me a little longer than it probably should to recognize. Avery looked different during the day when he wasn’t dancing around the kitchen to cringy country music. He wore a hoodie with the school’s logo on it, and jeans that actually fit with old tattered sneakers underneath. He had his backpack slung over one shoulder while trying to untangle a set of headphones presumably to listen to music on his walk across campus as many students did.  
I instantly tried to drop the tired and sad look, but I doubt it did much good. Before I could open my mouth to speak, Avery started talking first.  
“I wanted to thank you again for helping me with that paper,” he said, plugging his headphones into his phone. “I added in all that stuff you told me and it really saved me. I ended up with an A.”  
“That’s great,” I croaked, “congratulations.”  
Avery grew concerned, and it was as if he could see straight through my failed attempt to hide what I’d been through the night before.   
“You know, my grandma also had an amazing chocolate German cake recipe.” He stuck one earbud in his ear and before putting in the other, invited me to share it with him. “I get out of class pretty late tonight but if you’ll be up…”  
He handed me his phone and I noticed the dial pad was open.   
“You don’t have to do this.”  
“Do what?” He pushed the phone closer to me and I found myself picking my hand up to grab it.  
“Be nice to me. I’m a mess, and I come with a lot of baggage.” I keyed in my number and handed the phone back to him.  
“I think I can handle it,” he said with a wink, adding the missing earbud to his empty ear, “Plus I owe you for helping me out.”  
Before I could protest he stepped around me to walk out the door and called out over his shoulder, “See you tonight!”


	2. Zuppa Toscana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Copycat Olive Garden Zuppa Toscana  
• 4 strips thick-cut bacon • Pinch of crushed red pepper flakes  
• 1 pound sweet Italian sausage • Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper  
• 4 to 5 large russet potatoes • 6 cups chicken broth  
• 3 cloves garlic, minced • 3/4 cup heavy cream  
• 1 large white onion, diced • 1 teaspoon white wine vinegar  
• 6 cups curly kale  
1.) Cook the bacon in a large Dutch oven over medium-high heat, stirring occasionally.  
Transfer to a plate; set aside to drain. Add the Italian sausage to the drippings  
and cook, breaking it up, until browned and no longer pink. Transfer to a  
plate to drain.  
2.) Add the potatoes, garlic and onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until slightly softened. Season with the crushed red  
pepper flakes and salt and pepper. Add the chicken broth, increase the heat to  
high and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to medium-low and simmer until the potatoes are tender and cooked  
through.  
3.) Add the kale, heavy cream, bacon and sausage and cook over medium heat until the kale is tender. Stir in the vinegar last.

Another flash of lightning lit up my room, almost immediately followed by a loud clap of thunder that shook the entire building. I hadn’t moved from my bed all day. My phone was being blown up by the one person that I refused to speak to. My roommates knocked on my door only to be met with silence. It had been nearly a week since the break-up, I had finals the next day, and I couldn’t bring myself to even get dressed much less study for the exams that would determine my fate at graduation. I hadn't seen anyone, I hadn't spoken to anyone. Not my roommates, not my family, no one. Every call or text (aside from the obligatory "I'm fine. I'm alive. Leave me alone." messages) went ignored. Instead, I just laid in bed. Most of the time was spend staring at the ceiling, but in the last hour a thunderstorm started outside that caught my attention. No music, no TV, no sound other than the intense tapping of the rain against the window and the occasional boom of thunder. Eventually I couldn’t see much because of how heavy the rain was, so I just closed my eyes and let the sound relax me. 

My phone dinged again notifying me I had a text message. I looked, hoping it would be someone different, and I was excited to see that it was. The name Avery lit up my screen, and the message was blank meaning he’d only sent a picture. I opened up the message to see the picture was of a giant pot on the stove with what looked like some kind of soup in it. Immediately three bubbles popped up under the picture indicating that Avery was typing. A single word came through.

_Hungry?_

As if on cue, my stomach rumbled. I hadn’t eaten a thing in two days; nearly three. I looked from my phone to the rainy weather outside and decided I’d go down. I was craving comfort, and it looked like the answer to that problem was in the kitchen downstairs. My roommates were out, meaning I wouldn’t have to have the awkward conversation with them about where I’d been the past week. 

_On my way…_

I pulled a raggedy old hoodie from Vanderbilt (my dad’s alma mater) from my closet and pulled it over my head, running my fingers through my curly blond hair instead of opting for a brush. I changed my sweats to a pair of jeans I pulled from my hamper that honestly probably hadn’t been washed in God knows how long and worked them over my hips. I didn’t bother with shoes—I wasn’t planning on leaving the building—so I stuck to just my socks. _I should probably at least put on clean ones._

My door made a loud squeak when I opened it. Just to be safe, I poked my head out of my room to make sure my roommates were still gone and was relieved to be greeted by complete darkness.

I swiped my door key from my desk and left. I smelled whatever soup he was cooking immediately after I walked out my door and it made me quicken my pace. I wasn’t sure if I was more excited for the food or the idea of seeing Avery again. We’d seen each other one other time since the first night with the cookies and texted here and there. Him mostly checking in on me. I hadn’t told him what I was going through, but he didn’t push me, and I knew I didn’t really need to tell him. 

Avery was standing at the front desk talking to the RA on duty when I walked through the door into the lobby. He picked his head up at me and smiled, and my stomach fluttered. 

“There he is.”

The RA looked at me and flashed a smile of her own. The back door to the building was swinging open over and over, letting in students making their way in from class. Each time it opened a gust of freezing air was let into the building along with a wave of rain. I crossed my arms over my chest and moved further away from the door.

“This boy has been down here all day cooking and he has not once shut up about you,” the RA said to me. I forced a smile, but underneath my shell my stomach was doing flips. “You must be really special.”

I glanced over at Avery and saw that his cheeks were now tinted red. My fake smile turned into a real one. 

“I didn’t know I was that exciting,” I muttered staring down at my feet.

Avery stepped up to me, ducking down to look into my eyes. “Come on. Let’s eat.”

There was a bounce in his step as he walked down the short hallway to the kitchen. As he opened the door he turned back to look at me. “You know, one of these days I’ll get you dressed up and give you a proper dinner,” he said, “in a real kitchen with candles and wine and dishes that weren’t bought at a thrift store.”

_Is he asking me out on a date?_

I glanced down at what I was wearing. “I guess I haven’t exactly given the best impression huh?”

Avery rolled his eyes. “Shut up. That’s not what I meant.”

He took a step towards me, then as if second guessing it stepped back again towards the stove where a pot of soup big enough to feed an army was boiling on the stove.

“I-it smells amazing,” I stuttered, pulling a chair out from the table and sitting down, “What is it?”

“Zuppa toscana.”

My eyes went wide with the way his voice changed from a slight Brooklyn accent to sounding like he’d just flown in from Rome.

“You’re Italian.”

“Second generation American-Italian.” He reached into a cabinet above his head and pulled two bowls down. “My grandma—who raised me—came here in the 60s. She was nineteen. Two weeks after getting here, she meets my grandpa—an American solder. Naturally, they married, had my dad, and in 1972 he was shipped off to Vietnam. Never came home. My grandma tried her best, and tried to teach my dad as much as she could about where she came from, but as most kids from stressful situations did—especially in the 80s, my dad sort of went off the rails. He met my mom at a Metallica concert just after his twenty first birthday. Drunk off his ass, he knocked her up on the lawn as “Enter Sandman” played.”

He grabbed a giant ladle next to the stove and filled each bowl with the soup, then dipped down into the oven to pull out a pan of bread that had been toasting while he told me his story.

“Romantic right?” he asked. I chuckled. It was actually one of the most interesting things I’d ever heard.

“Anyway—” he continued, “Nine months later, I show up, and I get dumped on my dad’s doorstep. Dad decided he wasn’t up for the challenge either, so my grandma stepped up. Raised another child, and taught me everything she knew.”

Avery carefully balanced a piece of bread on each bowl of soup, then brought them over to the table sitting one down in front of me. The smell overwhelmed me, and I was reminded at how hungry I actually was. Beautifully browned sausage was mixed in with rich green kale and vegetables that sat in a warm, golden, creamy soup. It smelled like…comfort in a bowl, and I was dying to dig in.

“I’m sorry, you probably didn’t wanna hear my whole life story.” He picked up his bread and started breaking it apart, crumbling it up into the soup. He then motioned towards my bowl. “Eat.”

I didn’t hesitate and started shoveling it into my mouth. If it were at all possible, it tasted even better than it looked.

“I don’t mind,” I said through a mouthful of soup and bread. “I like stories like that. They might not seem so happy all the time but—” I stopped talking to notice him staring at me, and felt a small jolt in my stomach. “They all turn out perfect in the end.”

Avery’s deep blue eyes sparkled and a slight blush rose to his cheeks. My nerves caused me to break eye contact. “So, your grandma. Is she—”

“Still going strong. The devil’s gonna have to drag that woman to hell kicking and screaming.”  
That got a laugh out of me, so Avery decided to keep going.

“And then he’ll bring her back for kicking and screaming and not being able to understand what the hell she’s saying because she’s doing it all in Italian.”

“Do you speak any?” I finished cleaning my bowl and pushed it back, and apparently that was a signal to Avery that I wanted more. He stood from the table, filling the bowl full again and grabbing another piece of bread.

“A little bit,” he said returning to the table. “It’s a really hard language to learn but I know enough to bite back if I need to.”

“I’d love to meet her.”

Avery’s eyes went wide. “Are you sure about that?”

“Of course.” I was still shoving spoonful after spoonful of soup into my mouth. It was a wonder any air was able to get through at the rate I was going. “I need to thank her for teaching you to cook. I’d be starving to death otherwise.”

Avery smiled wide at the thought of bringing a quiet Southern bottomless pit of a boy home to meet his grandmother.

I locked my eyes on a funny looking piece of kale in my soup and started pushing it around with the spoon. My stomach flipped at the thought of asking him to clarify what he meant by candles and wine. My heart really wanted it, but my brain told me it was a bad idea so soon after the breakup. But the conversation had to happen. 

“Avery…I have to ask.” The words caught in my throat but now that I had his attention, I had to follow through with it. “That whole thing about the proper dinner and the candles and the wine.”

“You don’t have to say anything about that,” he interrupted, “I get a little too confident in myself sometimes and forget that not everyone’s as gay as I am. I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.”

Avery stared down into his own soup bashfully and to this day I can’t justify what I said next.

“I was going to say I’d love that.”

His head whipped towards me—surprised that I’d accepted the invitation. “Are you sure?” he asked, “I know we haven’t seen much of each other, but I can tell you’re going through something. I don’t know what it is, and I won’t pry, but I don’t want you doing anything you’re not ready for.”

I finished off my second bowl of soup, using the bread and the spoon combined to wipe the bowl clean, pushing it to my side instead of towards him, hoping that he wouldn’t pick it up. As good as it was and as much as I craved more, a quick glance down at my stomach told me that I couldn’t possibly fit more food into it.

“My boyfriend and I just broke up.” I confessed. Avery’s eyes filled with sadness but before he could open his mouth, I held a hand up to stop him. “I wanted commitment. We were together for six years, and when I brought up the idea of marriage…” I paused, remembering the fighting and everything that had taken place around the time I first met Avery. “Long story short, he bailed. It wasn’t in his plan, and he had no intentions of changing that.”

Avery finished his own bowl and stacked it on top of mine, pulling both towards himself to tell me that I wasn’t to touch the dishes.

“It was a long, drawn out fight, and yeah, I probably shouldn’t jump straight into something else. But you’ve been so good to me, and there’s something telling me that I need to take this chance before it passes me by. You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take right?”

Avery visibly blushed. “For what it’s worth,” he said, “your ex is a total idiot.”

Avery stood, taking the bowls to the sink and grabbing every utensil he’d used along the way. We were quiet while he carefully washed each bowl and spoon, rinsed them, then set them aside to dry. I studied the way he moved. Muscles I hadn’t noticed before rippled under his shirt. I admired the way his yellow t-shirt clung to his skin, and I resisted the urge to cross the room to touch him. No—I would save that for his super romantic candlelit dinner that I was now really looking forward to.

“Um…” Avery suddenly sounded really nervous. “My grandma’s leaving in a few days to go on a cruise.”

“Is she? That woman doesn’t stop does she?”

He nervously laughed. “No. No she doesn’t.”

He dried the last of the dishes and turned around to lean against the sink but stared down at his feet. 

“With her being gone, it means I’ll have the house to myself for a few days.”

I stood up from the table, pushed my chair in, and crossed the room to stand in front of him. Avery picked his head up to look at me. “What are you thinking of making?” I asked.

The confidence returned in his eyes. He instantly replied, “Lasagna—from scratch, pasta included.”

“Ooh,” I remarked, “I’ve heard lasagna’s hard. So is fresh pasta.”

“I know. I like a challenge.” 

My stomach twisted into a knot seeing the look he was giving me. Did I need to take this step with him? No. Was I going to do it anyway? You bet your sweet ass I was. 

_Don’t kiss him yet. Don’t kiss him yet. Don’t kiss him yet._ It felt like a jolt of lightning was passing through my body. Avery’s body held just the slightest hint of nerves, but looking at his eyes told me a different story. His unwavering confidence was killing me inside, and I was really struggling to hold myself back. But, if I was going to do this, I needed to take it slow. Very slow. Very, very, painstakingly cold showers twice a day slow.

“Tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zuppa Toscana recipe courtesy of the Food Network


	3. Lasagna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lazy Day Lasagna
> 
> • 1 lb dry lasagna noodles • 2/3 cup water  
• 1 lb lean ground beef • 15 oz container ricotta  
• 24 oz jar marinara or pasta sauce • 12 oz mozzarella cheese  
• 1 tsp Italian seasoning
> 
> 1.) Preheat the oven to 375.  
2.) Lightly spray a 9 x 13 baking dish with non-stick cooking spray.  
3.) Spread 2/3 cups of the marinara sauce on the bottom of the baking dish.  
4.) Top with lasagna noodles.  
5.) Brown the ground beef in a large skillet. Drain.  
6.) Pour in the remaining marinara sauce.  
7.) Simmer the meat sauce for 5 minutes.  
8.)Scatter about one-third of the ricotta cheese on top of the lasagna noodles. Sprinkle on mozzarella cheese.   
9.)Top with about one-third of the meat sauce.  
10.)Add another layer of lasagna noodles.  
11.) Repeat 8-10 two more times.  
12.) Top with remaining mozzarella cheese and sprinkle with Italian seasoning.  
13.) Cover tightly with foil and bake until the noodles are tender.  
14.) Remove foil and bake until cheese is nice and bubbly.  
15.) Let the lasagna rest before serving.

Green? No that’s a dumb idea. Blue? Nope, that one’s no good either. _When did I turn into a fifteen year old girl? Just pick a shirt stupid._

Using the towel from my shower to press the water out of my hair, I stared down at the three shirt options on my bed. _It really shouldn’t be this hard it’s just a damn shirt_. Green, blue, and black. As I tossed the towel into my clothes basket, I caught sight of the time on my phone. I was out of time. I turned, grabbed the black shirt, threw it on, adding a splash of the expensive cologne from my sister and sliding my feet into a pair of sneakers as I rushed out the door. Avery was expecting me at his place for dinner and as excited as I was, I found myself shaking as I fumbled with my keys trying to unlock my car door. I wondered if he was as nervous as I was. _Probably not._

I finally located the key for my car and started it, cranking the air conditioner all the way up to high. It was freezing outside but I was sweating bullets. I didn’t think I’d ever been on a proper date. I met Will in the first week of my freshman year of high school, and we’d been together ever since. Yeah, we went on dates, but by the time either of us were able to drive, all the “first” jitters were long gone. I didn’t know how you met people in the “real world” so to speak. I never expected to get this far with Avery, but I had to at least give it a chance. I wasn’t lying when I told him he saved me with those cookies. I couldn’t have imagined going up to my room to be alone after the fighting Will and I had done. 

Will and I would usually trade off who’s apartment we’d stay in since he went to another university across town. So when I went back to mine that night it was the first night in two years I’d slept alone, and I really needed that time that Avery gave me to wind myself down before I went upstairs to my empty bed.

Avery’s grandmother’s house was about a half hour drive from our apartments, and I counted every minute on the way over. My heart rate got faster and faster and as a rustic white farmhouse came into view at the end of a gravel driveway, I could have stopped breathing entirely. I turned my car off and just sat there admiring the house. It was just a single story, with white paneling and a wraparound porch, complete with a swinging bench and a couple rocking chairs. Navy blue shutters framed each window which seemed to be double-paned. I was going to observe longer, but the porch light flipped on, and the door opened. Avery pushed open the screen storm door and stepped out, flashing me a huge smile. 

I took a deep breath, and got out of the car, grabbing the bottle of wine from the passenger’s seat. Gravel crunched under each step I took. As I climbed the three steps to where Avery was standing. He wore jet black fitted jeans, and was only wearing socks. A towel was tucked into the waistband of his pants, but it didn’t seem to be doing any good because the old t-shirt he was wearing was covered in flour and tomato sauce.

“Well you’ve been having fun haven’t you?” I noted.

“I got in a fight with the mixer and it got pretty nasty.” He reached up, wrapped an arm around my neck and pulled me in for a hug. I lightly touched his waist, feeling lightning bolts under my fingertips. “What’s that?” he asked, glancing down at the bottle in my hand.

I’d forgotten I brought wine. “Oh, my sister gave it to me a while ago—thought it would get more use here than in my refrigerator.”

Avery took the bottle and leaned into the light of the small sconce hanging by the front door to read the label. “Your sister’s got good taste. Come in, it’s freezing out here.”

He held the screen door open for me to walk in past him. The door clicked shut behind us, and Avery tugged at the collar of my jacket. I slid it off my shoulders and let him take it. 

“Should I take off my shoes?”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t.” He opened a door just behind the one leading to the porch, and hooked my jacket onto a wooden hanger and stuffed it into the closet then took the bottle of wine from where he’d tucked it under his arm and held it up to me. “You wanna open this?”

“Of course.” I added my shoes to the pile next to the front door. “But I can’t have much if I’m driving back home tonight.”

Avery looked back at me, giving me a sly smile and a wink. “We have an extra bedroom.” Sensing that the thought of sleeping over made me nervous, he added, “I’m kidding. But the offer is open. It’s completely up to you.”

He led me through the very open living area decorated tastefully with very classic furniture. One vintage looking Chesterfield sofa sat underneath the window with an identical one making an L shape across the room surrounding a wooden coffee table. A stone fireplace was positioned on the far wall. Even though it wasn’t lit, it created a really comforting environment. There was a hallway going off to the left, and Avery led me to the right, not so much through the open doorway to the kitchen where I was greeted by a mouthwatering aroma of garlic, onion, and what I could only assume was a blend of Italian spices. The sink was full of dishes covered in flour, dough and tomato sauce. A tray of homemade garlic bread was sitting on the granite counter next to the stove, waiting to go in the oven.

“It smells wonderful in here,” I remarked, watching him cross the tiled floor to open one of the wooden cabinets to pull down two wine glasses.

An island with a sink and two barstools sat in the middle of the kitchen. I walked over and sat across from Avery as he rinsed the two glasses out in the sink. “That’s actually got nothing to do with the food it’s soaked into the walls.”

My lips curled up into a bashful smile. I studied a speck on the countertop as I heard him search around in the drawers, eventually locating the corkscrew I assumed he was looking for. I heard the cork squeaking against the glass, then the pop as it released. I felt a hand on my back as he reached around me to hand me a glass. I wasn’t usually a wine drinker, but it felt appropriate. Plus, I needed something to settle my nerves.

“This is really good—remind me to thank your sister.”

I nearly choked on a mouthful of the sweet deep red wine. “You are not meeting my sister,” I said laughing.

“Oh, that means she knows the fun stuff I definitely have to meet her now.” He set his glass down and went to the oven, taking out a glass dish and replacing it with the tray of bread.

I picked up the glass and downed half of it in one gulp. “There’s no way that’s happening, she’s insane.”

I turned on the stool to face the stove where Avery was standing. He’d picked up the corner of the aluminum foil lining the glass dish. I had to stop myself from pushing off the stool to stand behind him and wrap my arms around him. _Slow Derek. We’re taking it slow_.

I guess he could read my mind. Because as soon as he turned the temperature down on the stove and picked up his wine glass again, he took the two steps to stand in front of me and stepped right between my legs, laying his free hand on my thigh. My stomach lurched. Everything in my brain was telling me not to jump into something so quickly, but God I really wanted to. 

Then right on cue, my stomach growled, causing me to groan and cover my face in embarrassment. Avery laughed and pulled my hands away from my face. 

“I’ve heard your belly growl before, stop that.” Instead of dropping my hands he held them in his own. “Don’t worry it’ll be done in a few minutes. It seems like you never eat unless I’m feeding you.”

Avery lifted his wine glass to his lips and I studied the way they perfectly curved to the glass as he took a sip and took the glass away, leaving a perfect red tint to his lips. 

“I um, haven’t exactly been in the mood for cooking lately,” I strained. I was desperately trying to hold myself back. “Not that I was any good at it before.”

“Well maybe I can change that.”

Our eyes locked, and I could feel myself being pulled towards him like a magnet. Just when I thought I was going to cave and lean in towards him, a timer went off and he jumped to grab the tray of bread from the oven. I took a deep breath and picked up my wine glass downing the rest of the liquid inside. I could already start to feel my head spin just a little bit. _God what kind of mutant wine did Lydia give me?_

Before I could think twice, Avery was crossing the room to refill my glass, positioning himself between my legs once again. “Honestly, you can stay,” he said, “My grandma keeps a spare bed made. And the lock on the door works perfectly fine.”

“I trust you. I think I just don’t trust myself. I don’t wanna get myself involved in anything I’m not ready for.”

There was a clink as the bottle was set down on the countertop. Avery looked at me, as if he were thinking something over, then swooped in before I could protest, pushing his lips against mine. And once I felt how soft his lips were, and tasted the sweet wine on his tongue, every protest, every thought that had gone against getting involved with him was gone. Once I relaxed, he really leaned into the kiss, pushing his chest against mine and setting a gentle hand on my waist. I let one hand cup his neck while my other curled around his waist. That electricity that I was feeling in my stomach was now coursing through my entire body. 

Avery pulled away way too soon. Our lips slowly separated but he kept very close contact. “The heart knows what it wants,” he whispered, “I know you felt that too.”

I wanted to say yes. I wanted to move in for another kiss. My body felt frozen. All I could do was nod. 

“Do you feel better?” he asked.

Another nod.

A wide smile spread across his face. “Good.”

Avery stepped away to open the cabinet next to the one he pulled the wine glasses from. He took down two plates that looked very expensive. Pulling the foil off of the dish, he used a rubber spatula to cut the lasagna into squares, and put a massive serving onto each plate. A piece of bread followed, and a wedge of fresh parmesan was pulled from the fridge. He grated some over each plate, then brought mine to me.

“You wanna eat here?” he asked, topping off my wine glass again.

“After that kiss? I don’t think my legs would hold me up to move anywhere else.”

The stool next to me was moved even closer, and Avery sat down on it after bringing his own plate over. I picked up my fork, but he grabbed my hand to stop me.

“Don’t you dare. I’ve kissed you now. We’re gonna do this right.”

Avery grabbed the fork from me, flipping it onto it’s side to cut into the brick of lasagna. Cheese and meat sauce poured out from between the layers of noodles making my mouth water. Steam rose from the plate. Avery brought the fork to his own mouth and lightly blew on the mountain of meat, cheese, sauce, and noodles to cool it down. My stomach was staring at the food, my eyes were looking at those soft, perfect lips still slightly tinted red from the wine. Once he deemed the bite cool enough, he pulled his bottom lip behind his teeth and moved the fork towards my own mouth, holding one hand underneath to make sure nothing fell to the floor. He guided the fork gently into my mouth. I wasn’t in control of the moan that came from me. Whether it was from how mind-blowingly amazing the food was, or the sheer intimacy of the situation I wasn’t sure. Avery’s mouth curled into a satisfied smile. 

“It should be illegal for food to tasted this good,” I mumbled through the full mouth.

Avery handed the fork back over to pick up his own. 

“Told you I knew what I was doing.”

Bite by bite, the lasagna on my plate disappeared. I couldn’t remember the last time I ate so well. The soup he’d made the week before fed me almost the entire week. Not only did I need more than microwave meals, but it was comforting. It finally felt like someone truly cared about me. In more ways than just food. Avery gave me everything I never knew I needed without knowing a single detail of what I was going through. He didn’t have an ulterior motive. He didn’t want anything more. He just wanted to spend time with me.

“So, how did someone from Brooklyn end up all the way down here in North Carolina?” I asked. My plate was clean, and I wanted to make sure I didn’t get too full, so I pushed my plate behind me, leaning my forearms on the counter and sipping on my now third glass of wine.

“Well, I was a little bit of a smart-ass in high school.”

“Oh only in high school?” I got smacked on the arm.

“Shut up—anyway—smartass in the good way. I placed really high in a national decathlon and Duke basically begged me to come down here. I got a full ride. I didn’t want to leave _noni_, but she wasn’t going to let me give up the opportunity. She pulled her life savings from God knows where and paid in full for a house without seeing it, we moved down here and the rest is history.”

“I bet it was a bit of culture shock for you wasn’t it?”

“A little bit.” Avery used his bread to scrape up the last bit of the meat sauce on his plate, then pushed it back as he stuffed the last bite into his mouth and picked up his wine glass. “The biggest thing was the quiet. We lived in the heart of Brooklyn, so there was always noise. Cars, sirens, shouting. The quiet down here the first night drove me insane.”

I sat back and took a sip from my glass. “How new is that porch swing outside?”

“Uh, I think we had it installed two years ago? We’ve never used it.”

“You mean to tell me you’ve never just sat on the front porch and taken in the air?”

Avery spit out the mouthful of wine he had in a fit of laughter. “I didn’t know you were such a bumpkin.”

“Don’t knock it until you try it.” I hopped off my stool and wavered a bit as the wine hit my head. I held out my hand towards him. “Come on.”

He gestured towards my glass. “Refill?”

“Yes please.”

With both of our glasses almost completely full (don’t judge—we finished the bottle) we both put on jackets and stepped out onto the front porch in the cool December air. I sat on the far left side of the bench and let him slide in next to me as I stretched my arm behind him. Once he was confident that the swing could support us, he slid down slightly to give himself the position to lay his head on my chest. Even in December, I could hear cicadas chirping somewhere in the distance. There was an open field directly across the street from his house and we sat and watched the fog dance over it, even seeing a deer pop out from the woods briefly before darting back in. 

“Do you think I’m taking advantage of you?” he asked.

My head whipped down towards him. “No. Not at all. What makes you think that?”

“I have this really close friend I tell everything to. I told him the night I met you that I really liked you, and it seemed like you were going through something and I wanted to be there for you. And when I told him you were coming over tonight, he told me to be careful, that I didn’t want to take advantage of you.”

Avery set his empty wine glass on the floor next to him and used the empty hand to lace his fingers through mine.

“I appreciate your friend looking out for both of us—but I do have a mind of my own.” I dipped down to where my lips were moving against his forehead. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.” I finished the sentence with a kiss on his forehead. “I’m glad I came tonight.”

“Wait… how did you know I was from Brooklyn?” he asked as he sat up to look at me; a wide grin spread across his face.

I just shrugged. “I know my accents.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m freezing,” he said, “Why don’t I go clean up the mess in the kitchen then get the fire going?”

“That sounds perfect.” I leaned in to kiss him lightly on the lips and then drained the rest of my wine and followed him inside to help clean up through him protesting every time I picked something up but not bothering to stop me.

As he focused on getting the rest of the food put away—taking extra care to separate some for me to take home—I focused on the mountain of dishes. It took about half an hour to wash them all, and he protested about every five minutes, but by the time his hands were free to walk over and stop me, I was putting away the last fork. 

“Too late,” I said, “It’s done now.”

Avery shut the door on the fridge and crossed the room to lean against me as I propped myself up on the sink. His hands rested on my hips. With his eyes closed, he tilted his face towards mine, searching for my lips. I gave them to him, letting him gently kiss me while his tongue pressed at my lips.

I knew what he was waiting for. He was waiting for my permission. He was waiting for the signal. The moment that would tell him it was okay to lead me down the hallway to his bedroom and shut the door behind us. And that moment was now. The time was perfect. The bottle of wine, the perfect dinner, the perfect mood. The way he held me was perfect. Not too gentle, but not too strong. 

My arms closed around him, and I pulled away to ask where his bedroom was, but instead I asked, “Do you want to get married?”

His smartass nature kicked in. “Right now?” I mean I hadn’t planned on it but—”

“No smart mouth not tonight,” I said with a laugh.

“I do.” He brushed a strand of stay hair out of my face. “As far as when, well I think life will tell me that when we get to it, but yes. I do want to get married.” He picked a hand up to cup my neck and pressed his forehead against mine. “You don’t have to worry about me bailing when things get serious.”

“I don’t know how I’ll hold myself up if you do.”

“But I won’t. I’m giving you my promise now that I won’t. All I’m asking you to do is trust me. I know that’s hard for you, and if you don’t, that’s okay. But I’m giving you my word. And for a Catholic-raised Brooklyn-Italian that’s as good as giving you my life. If I can’t live up to my word then I’m just no good.”

The more he talked, the more my breathing picked up. The magnet between us got stronger and stronger. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was just everything lining up perfectly.

“I trust you,” I whispered, completely breathless.

Avery smiled as he talked against my lips.

“Can I take you to my bedroom now?”

“Yes please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lasagna Recipe courtesy of Mom on Timeout


End file.
